


Together is Brilliant (A Fawnlock Adventure)

by johnlockhedgehog149



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fawnlock, Fic Exchange, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2014-08-22
Packaged: 2018-02-08 18:04:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1950921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnlockhedgehog149/pseuds/johnlockhedgehog149
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is alone in his cabin. Sherlock is alone in the forest. What will happen when a man and a fawn who are both so alone end up together?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Alone in a Cabin

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This fic is a gift for Natalie (www.johnwatsoninlove.tumblr.com) in the Exchangelock AU Exchange. I hope you enjoy this fic. It is the longest one I've ever written (my first multi-chapter!) as well as my first fawnlock that I have written. I need to thank the wonderful Jessica (spacethefinalfuck) for being the best beta reader a fangirl could ask for :) Please enjoy and thanks for reading!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE FROM AUTHOR: This poor little fic that I have been meaning to update for so long is finally getting updated after a very long while of waiting. I'm going to start by updating each chapter that is already posted with some minor changes, rewrites, ect. Then I will be adding new chapters to finally complete this fic. Finishing this has been on my to do list for the past year, but I've simply been too busy to allot time and attention to it. Now I'm back (at least for a short while) and I'm ready to follow this fic where it takes me. Thanks for all your patience! Keep checking back for updates. Enjoy! - Frannie (johnlockhedgehog149)

John Watson was alone in his cabin. He had been alone in his cabin yesterday. He was alone in his cabin today. He would most likely be alone in his cabin tomorrow. Such was John’s existence since the war; useless, isolated, and consequently alone.

John had inherited the old cabin from a grandmother he never really knew. The long abandoned shack was barely standing, a failing structure of rotted wood adrift in an endless sea of trees. No one would be crazy enough to buy it. After all, who would want to live in the middle of the forest in this day and age? No community, no bustle and excitement. John was certain that nothing could leave him wanting such a life. But that certainty, along with every other certainty John Watson had ever known, was shattered beyond recognition in less than a second by a single bullet. 

Suddenly thrown from the horrors of war into the dull slog that was everyday civilian life, John found himself longing to disappear. So that was exactly what he did. He disappeared to the cabin he had inherited, determined to fix it up and stay as far away from the world as was manageable. After all, the world had no need for a broken, scarred ex-army doctor. A lonesome cabin was the best place for him. Of this, John was certain.

The cabin was worse than John had remembered. The walls were infested with termites, weakened enough that parts of the roof had caved in. The garden was overgrown with weeds and other undesirable plants. Most ironic to John however, was the fact that he had inherited the keys to a cabin that had no door. The original door must have been carried of in a storm or stolen by campers. Either way, John had his work cut out for him. 

John slowly fixed it up. He tore down the existing structure and found that the foundation was still strong. From that he was able to rebuild and repair the cabin one section at a time. It took nearly six months of labor-filled days and tent-housed nights for John to repair the structure to the point that it was livable. Much to John’s relief, the end result was actually quite quaint. A small cabin nestled in the woods with its own garden as well as running water and electricity, the nearest town a 45-minute drive away. It was just the right amount of space to be alone, while also allowing John reasonable access to groceries and other daily necessities. 

John didn’t mind living in the cabin. It was a lovely place to be. Much lovelier than the harsh deserts of Afghanistan, he reminded himself almost daily. John built a birdhouse and enjoyed watching a family of finches take residence there. He had a satellite so he could enjoy crap telly, a homey kitchen where he could bake, and a garden in which he could grow his own vegetables and flowers. It was the ideal existence – with the exception that it was so very lonely.

Sure, John made small talk with the grocery clerk when he stopped into town, and would chat with hikers and such that would pass by his cabin on occasion. But other than that, John was left alone with only his memories of long-dead or far away comrades from the war, none of which would be stopping by to visit. 

Truly, John was alone in his cabin. That is, until he wasn’t in the most unexpected way.


	2. Alone in the Forest

Sherlock Holmes was alone in the forest. He had been alone in the forest yesterday. He was alone in the forest today. He would most likely be alone in the forest tomorrow. Such was Sherlock’s existence; different, misunderstood, and consequently alone. 

Sherlock wasn’t like the other fawns. He loathed the strict traditions his kind blindly followed. He couldn’t comprehend how the others were content to stay in the small section of forest in which they lived, worshipping the moon and the stars as if they had any actual impact on their existence beyond floating about in the sky above them. Sherlock despised the idiotic ways he was expected to spend his time; making flower crowns and singing folk songs about trees. All the others were idiots and Sherlock struggled to tolerate their presence around him.

The only part of fawn culture Sherlock liked was the magic. Fawns were able to harness their connection with the natural world around them, creating spells and potions of various uses. However, Sherlock differed from the rest on this matter as well. While the other fawns learned the few traditional spells of fawn kind and performed them exclusively, Sherlock studied the science behind the spells vigorously and experimented tirelessly until he had discovered things that the other fawns would never have thought possible. 

Sherlock’s only family was his brother. Moosecroft was the opposite of Sherlock in every way. He was the head of the fawn council, which created and enforced the rules and traditions that Sherlock continuously and deliberately ignored. Moosecroft was highly respected, while Sherlock was the freak of the community, always ridiculed for his differences. Moosecroft had earned many honors, his fur covered with ceremonial markings. Sherlock’s fur was bare of distinguishment, leaving only his natural spotting for decoration. 

Sherlock knew he was a disappointment to his brother. He didn’t really mind; Moosecroft was an idiot like all the rest. In fact, in Sherlock’s mind Moosecroft’s high ranking in the council and decorated fur made him the biggest idiot of all. 

Sherlock spent his days exploring forbidden parts of the forest, beyond where the fawns were supposed to roam. There he experimented with fawn magic and searched for ways to cure his ever-present boredom. 

One day, Sherlock came across something that interested him greatly. He had traveled farther away from the fawn area of the forest than usual, particularly bored. As he traveled about, memorizing each nook and cranny of the uncharted territory, Sherlock came upon a group of bipedal, furless creatures. He immediately identified them as humans. Fawn culture warned of the dangers of humans. All his life Sherlock had been told that humans were to be feared and he was to immediately run to safety should he come across them. Naturally, this only peaked the rebel fawn’s interest. Sherlock focused his attentions on them, learning everything he could.

After many months of observation, Sherlock had begun to master bits and pieces of the humans’ language. He practiced speaking the words he heard every day, filing them away in his mind forest for reference. Soon, Sherlock was able to properly form some of the syllables, slowly gaining an understanding of the humans’ speech, and through doing so unlocking a wealth of knowledge about their kind. Sherlock took caution to stay hidden as he studied, never leaving the shadows that hid him so well. 

The more interest Sherlock showed in the humans, the more socially isolated he became from the rest of his kind. None of the others knew to what extent Sherlock was educating himself on human behavior. However, many had suspicions that Sherlock was up to no good, gossiping openly about his strange behavior and general disregard for fawn tradition. Sherlock was unmoved by their speculations. He was used to being alone. He always had been. One cannot know they are missing something when they have never possessed it in the first place. 

Truly, Sherlock was alone in the forest. That is until he wasn’t in the most unexpected way.


	3. Ugly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild trigger warning for self hatred related to body image issues.

It was the first night of summer. John had used up all his building money and thus was unable to afford air conditioning. The sticky heat of the night had enveloped all it touched, leaving John feeling as if he was trapped in an oven of humidity. John had eaten dinner and was relaxing on the couch with a novel when he decided enough was enough – he stripped off his jumper and threw it into a heap on the floor.

John had worn his jumpers religiously since he returned from the war, keeping a thick layer of fabric between his scar and the world. This was the first time, outside of showering and dressing himself, that he had been shirtless since his return.

John used to love being shirtless. He had enjoyed the feeling of the air on his skin, and had liked the casualness of simply existing without any thought to his choice of clothes. But alas, gone were the days of casual bare-chested evenings about the house, cruelly replaced with the obsessive layering of shirts and jumpers; a wearable security blanket that protected from the unsightliness beneath.

John lay back and returned to his novel, enjoying the feel of the couch on his bare skin, thoughts soon lost to the mystery he was enjoying. Time flew by as he adventured in the turning pages of the paperback, his focus no longer stolen away by the heat of the night. An hour or so later John finished the last page, closing the book and placing it on the coffee table. 

John relaxed back into the couch with a contented sigh. He felt comfortable, he realized. He felt comfortable within himself. He felt confident even, good looking. He was happy to be in his own skin. It had been so long since John had felt this way.

There was a spring to John’s stride as he went to the kitchen to get his tea. He felt light, as if nothing could weigh him down. John put the kettle on, pausing by the open kitchen window to savor the feeling of the night air on his skin – a feeling he had long forgotten.

Once the tea was made, John poured a cup and carefully carried it to his bedroom. John liked to have one last cuppa as he relaxed in bed at the end of the day. It helped calm his nerves, and usually helped him drift into peaceful dreams. John set his tea on the bedside table and turned to switch off the bathroom light. It was then that John stopped in his tracks.

Standing in the bathroom mirror, was an ugly, broken man. A short, useless man, shoulder disfigured with a hideous scar. Standing in the bathroom mirror, staring back at John, was the one thing he hated the most in the world: his own reflection.

John stepped closer to the mirror and looked at his scar. He usually took his jumper off next to the shower, so as not to see it, and then wrapped himself in the towels to shield his view as he dried off. Now, John was bare, able to see his grotesquely marred shoulder. There was nowhere for him to hide from himself. 

What a stupid fool he had been to think he could walk about without a shirt. What a stupid, pathetic, idiotic fool. He couldn’t go without something to hide this… this monstrosity that covered his shoulder. His skin was marred, proof that he was broken. That he was useless and undesirable. This is why John needed to live in the woods, away from the rest of the world. Because it was easier, it was easier for him to not be seen by others. He could exist on his own and never worry about how others would react to seeing his body. 

And how they would react… the prospect frightened John. Sure, he could cover it up with a thick shirt or a jumper and no one would see. But in the heat of summer he’d feel uncomfortable, and people would notice his strange attire for the season. They’d expect a thin t-shirt, and even in that he’d feel as if his scar was too close to being exposed. He’d feel wrong. 

And what would he do if he was asked to go swimming? Everyone at the pool would stare at him. Even worse, what would he do if he met some lovely girl who wanted to have sex with him? She’d probably lose all interest at the sight of him. She’d be repulsed.

John stared intently at his reflection for a moment, his insecurities multiplying and expanding into a painful wave of self-hate. Embarrassment, shame, and anger boiled within him until he turned away, having seen enough.  
John violently tugged on his thickest jumper and crawled deep into the covers of his bed, the image of his scar cruelly dancing across his mind as he tried his best to fall into slumber.


	4. Freak

Sherlock was never the type to allow himself to be bothered by the weather – he simply went about his business as usual, only making alterations in his behavior to accommodate the changing seasons when it was absolutely essential to his well-being. Despite his usual disregard for the weather, Sherlock did appreciate and especially enjoy the evenings of summer. The warmer and lighter evenings meant that Sherlock could stay out in the forest later without worrying about it getting too cold. It also meant he could adventure farther beyond the borders of the fawn territory, greatly increasing his chances of encountering new things. 

On this particular evening there was to be a meeting of the fawn council. These meetings were held quite often- nearly every week. Despite the relatively steady weekly and occasionally bi-weekly occurrences of the fawn council meetings, Moosecroft and the other fawns treated each one as if it was a rare, precious happening. Why treat such a common thing as a unique anomaly? Everything seemed to be a reason for a fawn council meeting. Is it too sunny? Fawn council meeting. Is it too rainy? Fawn council meeting. Is Moosecroft in the mood to flaunt his high ranking in the fawn community and ramble on for an adoring audience, all while using the occasion as an excuse to add to his already fat appearance by eating seed cakes from the refreshments table? Fawn council meeting.

Sherlock had been explicitly told that he must attend today’s meeting. Moosecroft had reminded him time and time again, as if reminding Sherlock was going to make him care enough to come. The meeting was to start soon, but Sherlock wasn’t bothered in the slightest. He was too busy engaging in one of his more trivial pursuits: rolling in the grass. Sherlock loved to roll in the grass whilst he pondering things in his mind forest. He enjoyed the feeling of the grass rubbing on his fur, and he liked making a mess of himself. Sherlock was blissfully rolling about when a rustling in the leaves startled him.

Moosecroft stepped out of the trees, an angry scowl on his face. He stomped over to Sherlock and prodded at him with his large, foolishly decorated antlers. “Why can you never follow instructions, brother mine?” Moosecroft admonished in the fawn language.

“Perhaps it is similar to how you can never resist eating seed cakes?” Sherlock coldly retorted, his tone harsh, even in the beautiful language spoken by the fawns. “Or is that also one of your ceremonial duties as head of the fawn council?”

Moosecroft snorted and butted at Sherlock with his antlers. “Get up. We are leaving this dangerous part of the forest and going to the fawn council meeting where you belong!” 

Although Sherlock wanted nothing to do with the fawn council, he could tell there was something different about this meeting. Moosecroft had never ventured beyond the fawn territory to get Sherlock before. He knew that the meeting must be very serious. Sherlock stood up and shook the grass out of his fur. 

“Why do you care so much that I attend this meeting? You’ve never been bothered by my absence before. In fact, I think the rest of the council prefers it.”

A brief look of concern crossed over Moosecroft’s features. “You must attend today’s meeting,” his only reply as he began to walk, expecting Sherlock to follow him. Sherlock did, only because he had never seen a look like that on Moosecroft’s features before. 

The two walked back towards fawn territory in silence. Moosecroft would occasionally glare at Sherlock when he thought his brother wasn’t walking quickly enough. Soon they crossed into fawn territory and arrived at the clearing where the meetings were held. All the other fawns were gathered, surrounding the trees where the council members sat. Moosecroft lead Sherlock over to a patch of grass near the front of the group. “Sit.” he huffed before making his way to the centermost council member’s seat.

Sherlock could already see the icy stares from the audience and members of the council. He often wished he could just grow accustomed to them- he always received them when he spent time near the other fawns. There was something, however, about being started at like he was a disease that Sherlock couldn’t get used to, no matter how often it happened.

Sherlock snorted in amusement when he saw the table, laid out with seed cakes for after the meeting. He could just see his brother’s face covered with the sweet berry topping and he gobbled them down.

Just then Mooscroft came to the head of the crowd. “We have gathered to here today to announce the actions that will be taken because of the vote, witnessed in our last meeting.” The other fawns nodded, many of them looking directly at Sherlock. 

“The last meeting was held so members of our community could voice their concerns and complaints regarding the behavior of Sherlock Holmes.”

As soon as this was said, all that had not been staring at Sherlock were turned to look at him. Sherlock’s face set in the cold, blank expression he used as a barrier between himself and the world. He immediately knew this would not be good.

“Many of you stressed your anger and concern regarding Sherlock’s foolish actions, many of which endanger our people. After last week’s report from Sally Doenavin, telling that Sherlock had been seen speaking words of the human language, you all were concerned for the safety of our people.”

Sherlock glared at Doenavin. Of course she would be the one to cause this commotion. She glared right back at him and mouthed the word “freak” before turning her gaze away.  
“The council voted on the appropriate action to be taken regarding this discovery.” Moosecroft announced. “It has been decided that Sherlock Holmes will be assigned a mate and required to start a family, in hopes that it will help redirect his attentions to things of actual importance.” 

Sherlock’s stomach dropped. He immediately stood up and backed away, his nostrils flaring.

“It has been decreed that Sherlock Holmes will be married to Moosey Hooper tomorrow at sundown. He will be expected to sire children before the summer changes to fall.” 

Sherlock backed away further, bumping into Antlerson. “You’re lucky a nice fawn like Moosey Hooper is willing to mate with you. I didn’t think they’d find anyone willing to carry the children of a freak,” he jeered with a sickening expression of disgust.

“This decision is final, as decreed by vote of the fawn council.” Moosecroft declared, eyes set on Sherlock as he spoke. Sherlock glared at his brother. He was not going to be bullied by the council. 

“I will do no such thing!” Sherlock stood tall, ignoring the gasps of the crowd.

“Are you defying the order of the fawn council?” Moosecroft demanded. 

“Wonderful deduction, brother mine. Yes, I am.” Sherlock spat out, anger burning in his glare. “I will not be forced to mate with anyone. I’d rather live alone outside the fawn territory than comply with the orders of such useless idiots.”

Sherlock jumped up on to the table of cakes, kicking them about. “That is the alternative, is it not? Banishment. The worst of sentences that can be placed upon one of our kind!” Sherlock spoke with manic distain unfitting to the punishment of which he spoke. The audience looked on with gaping stares of astonishment. “I’ll take that, unless the fawn council prefers to leave me be and pretend this meeting never happened.”  
Moosecroft stood, eyes alight with concern. “Do not play, brother. That is something far too serious to joke about at a time like this. Accept the council’s ruling and stop this foolish outburst.”

Sherlock snorted a laugh. “When have I ever been one to joke, brother?” Sherlock kicked the rest of the cakes off the table, making a huge mess. “I, Sherlock Holmes am voluntarily leaving as an alternative to the council’s idiotic demands.”

“You’ll freeze in the winter without a home to sleep in.” Moosecroft insisted, obvious concern seeping into his voice.

“I’ll figure something out. Unlike you, I don’t need to meet with a council to solve basic problems.” Sherlock jumped down from the table and back towards the trees. “I hope you’re happy with what you’ve done, brother mine.” 

With that, Sherlock ran as fast as he could, never wanting to see his brother’s stupidly decorated fur again.


	5. Cabin in the Forest

Sherlock sprinted through the trees for quite some time. He wanted to put as much space between himself and fawn territory as possible, just in case Moosecroft had attempted to follow. 

When Sherlock felt he’d gone far enough he stopped, catching his breath under a particularly large tree. Once he was breathing normally again, and the ache in his legs from all the sprinting had faded away, Sherlock decided to climb up in the tree to further protect himself from being found. 

Tree climbing was frowned upon in the fawn community. Sherlock never understood why climbing a tree was considered taboo. It was the greatest way to look out over the forest, as well as a handy way to keep oneself safe. Sherlock had taught himself to climb trees at a young age, always enjoying the view of the forest from up above. He benefited from the fact that the other fawns couldn’t climb. The tops of tress became an easy escape for Sherlock when he needed it. 

Sherlock settled in the top of the tree, surveying the forest and the night sky with fond appreciation. He could see everything from there, including the night sky. It was beautiful. Sherlock rubbed his feet, which were sore from running. He needed to think about what had just happened, and what he would do next.

Moosecroft would search for him. Sherlock knew this to be true. No doubt Sherlock’s outburst and chosen exile would embarrass his brother greatly. If Moosecroft found Sherlock, he would be angry and much less willing to negotiate Sherlock’s future. At this point, Sherlock wouldn’t put it past the council to force him to sire the children while they watched. The idea sickened him.

It wasn’t that having a family sounded terrible, nor was it that Moosey Hooper was a bad choice of a mate. It really came down to the fact that Sherlock had never been attracted to anyone ever, and was not about to force himself into trying to be attracted to Moosey because the council decreed that he do so. While most would probably assume Sherlock had never mated because no one would consider taking him as a mate, the truth was he never was interested in any of the other fawns. They all were such idiots - all of them. 

Sherlock sighed as he stared out over the forest from the safety of the tree. The reality was that a fawn surviving completely alone in the forest was unrealistic. Even though Sherlock loathed the other fawns, they provided the body heat necessary to keep him from freezing in the harsh winter months. Once the days grew cold Sherlock would be at great risk.

With a great sigh, Sherlock pushed this to the side of his Mind Forest. He had months before the cold of winter would arrive. For now, Sherlock needed to find somewhere safe where he could sleep for the night. 

Sherlock tried to think of anywhere he knew that would be appropriate. While he knew much of the land beyond fawn territory, Sherlock could not think of anywhere where he would be safe from discovery or attack.

Sherlock was pondering the issue when he noticed something off in the distance. There was light coming out from the tress off yonder. Sherlock looked at the distant light with great curiosity. He had not been to that area of the forest yet. The light was different than the glow of a fire. It did not move with the wind or crackle as firelight usually would. 

Sherlock’s curiosity overtook him and he climbed down from the tree, interested to see what was causing the strange light in the distance.

Sherlock traveled in the general direction of the light, marking his path every so often so he could find his way back. Sherlock walked for some time before he finally saw a faint glow coming through the trees. He pushed past the thick foliage and found a structure of some sort. It was large, the sides and top appearing to be made of wood. Sherlock had never seen anything like it before. The fawn crept out from behind the trees and looked over his discovery. 

After a long moment of contemplation, he came to the decision that what he had found must be a house. Sherlock had heard humans mention houses before. Houses were where they lived. The people Sherlock saw in the forest would speak of being far away from their houses, or having forgotten something from their house. Despite having heard of them, this was the first time Sherlock had ever actually seen a house. Sherlock padded closer to the building, cautiously examining it. 

Sherlock walked around the building’s exterior, careful to be quiet so as to not wake up any humans inside. Once he was satisfied with his initial inspection of the area, Sherlock decided to turn his attentions towards the source of the light that attracted him to the house in the first place.

The light was coming from a small fixture by what Sherlock assumed was the front of the house. It illuminated what Sherlock recognized to be a ‘door’. He had recently learned the word ‘door’, and said it a few times proudly.   
The light next to the door was unlike any Sherlock had ever seen before. It was definitely not fire, nor was it the light of a glow worm (these were the two forms of light utilized by the fawns). It was connected to the wall by the door. Perhaps the light came out of the wall? That seemed unlikely since the wall was made of wood. Perhaps it was magic? But the humans had no way of learning fawn magic, and Sherlock was certain they had no magic of their own. Sherlock stood tall as he could, bringing his face close to the light. 

He was so mesmerized with the porch light, he didn’t notice the small button next to the door that his tail was pressing lightly against. Sherlock’s tail waggled a bit and pressed against the doorbell, causing it to ring loudly. Sherlock gave a bleat of surprise and stumbled backwards, not minding the steps that lead up to the porch. He tumbled down the steps, landing hard on the rough ground below. 

Sherlock cried out in pain, clutching his arm close to his chest. He could see there was some blood- he must have cut himself. Sherlock cursed softly in the fawn language, trying his best to scoot away from the house. It was then that the door opened, and a short, sandy-haired human peered out into the night.


	6. Suddenly Together

John was startled awake by the sound of the doorbell ringing. “What the hell?” he mumbled as he sat up, freeing himself from the tangle of sheets he had become entwined in during a tumultuous sleep. He immediately grabbed his service revolver, which he kept next to his bed for safety, and made his way to the front door.

John flicked on the sitting room light and peered out the window. He couldn’t see anyone outside… perhaps some campers had thought ringing the doorbell so late would be a laugh and had run off. Just then, John heard what he thought was a whimper of pain. He walked briskly to the door and peered out.

At first John didn’t see anything. “Hello? Someone there?” he called out, opening the door further. There was no response, but John thought he heard a sound, like someone moving in the darkness. “You should be mindful, I’m an ex-soldier, so trying to rob me would be considerably unwise.”

There was another shuffle of movement and a soft cry of pain. By now John’s eyes had better adjusted to the darkness and he was able to see out farther. His eye was drawn to a small, huddled figure that was trying to pull itself away. It looked like some sort of animal, and it was obviously hurt. John’s heart immediately softened. He rushed in the house, setting down his revolver and grabbing a blanket. 

“Shhhh… it’s okay. I won’t hurt you.” he assured gently as he knelt next to the animal, a deer of some sort. At John’s words the animal visibly relaxed, as if it understood. 

Despite its small size the deer was quite gangly, making it hard to scoop it up in the blanket. Somehow John managed to gather up the animal’s limbs and lift it carefully. John carried it up the steps of the porch and in to the sitting room of the cabin. Gently, John set the bundled up animal on the floor by the couch.

As soon as John had unwrapped the blanket the animal’s head popped up, looking about the room with great curiosity. John took this opportunity to get a proper look at the creature. It was unlike anything he had ever seen. Its bottom was like that of a deer, with hoofs instead of feet. Its legs were furred and it had a fluffy white tail on its backside. It’s belly and groin area were also furred, like a deer, and John could see that this creature was a male. 

His eyes were quite large, beautifully blue in shade with gold speckles scattered about like a galaxy in the iris. They darted about, taking in everything they saw. They looked as if they were cataloging every detail of the room, studying it with interest and precision. He had an oval-shaped black nose that appeared to be soft and a bit squishy, and two large, furry ears that flicked about from time to time.

Most interesting to John were the creatures hands- unlike the hoofs on its legs, the creature had the hands of a human, only different in that they also were furred. “What are you?” John said as he stared at the creature in awe.

“Fawn.” The animal replied in a deep, clear voice. “Am fawn.” John stumbled backwards in surprise. Had the animal just spoken? John rubbed his eyes, shaking his head a bit as if to clear his mind.

“Hello.” The fawn said, looking John over with his large eyes. 

“W-what?” John sputtered out, not believing his ears.

“Hello. Is human greeting.” the fawn explained. Something in his tone was impatient, as if he was bored by the fact he had to clarify such a thing.

“You… you can speak?” John exclaimed in amazement. “You just…. spoke to me.” 

“Obvious.” The fawn said. His eyes were locked on John, seeming to see everything about him. “Sherlock.” the fawn said, motioning to himself with his uninjured arm. “Name is Sherlock. Am fawn.”

“Sherlock. Your name is Sherlock.” John repeated, his expression one of disbelief at the whole situation. 

“What is name for you?” Sherlock inquired, motioning towards John.

“My name? My name is John.” 

“John. John.” The fawn repeated John’s name a few times, quickly getting the hang of saying the syllables. “Hello John.” he proudly announced. “Is nice to meet.” Sherlock tried to stick his arm out for a handshake but immediately gave a small cry of pain. John immediately approached Sherlock, reaching for the injured arm. Sherlock backed away, holding his arm protectively. 

“No, no, no. It’s okay. I can help. I’m a doctor.” John insisted. 

“Doc-tor?” Sherlock asked with interest, having not heard that particular word before. 

“Yes, I’m a doctor. That means I help people when they are hurt.” Sherlock slowly loosened his grip on his arm, extending it towards John gently. “Good.” John praised softly. He carefully took Sherlock’s arm in his hands, turning it so he could see the wound. There was a nasty cut on the side, and quite a bit of bruising from the fall.

“I’m going to need to stitch this.” he explained to the creature before him. “Stay here and I’ll get my medical kit.” Sherlock nodded his understanding and waited patiently as John disappeared into the other room. 

John returned with his medical kit from the army, still stocked with necessities for dealing with various types of wounds. John carefully set out his materials on the coffee table as the fawn watched with great interest.

“This is going to hurt a bit, okay?” John cautioned as he readied the surgical thread. “But I promise it’s going to make your cut heal faster.” John took an antiseptic cloth and gently cleaned around the cut. John found it was harder to clean off an arm that was covered in fur than it was to clean off the skin he was used to treating. 

“Are you ready for me to start?” John asked. The fawn nodded, seemingly more interested in the procedure than concerned about the pain, or having a complete stranger tend to him. John carefully began stitching the wound, trying his best not to cause any more pain than was necessary. Sherlock winced a bit, but focused on watching John’s movements carefully.

“Do you live in the forest?” John asked, hoping some conversation might distract Sherlock from the pain. Sherlock nodded, not bothering to look up at John. “I see.” John continued stitching the wound. “And there are others, like you. Other fawns in the forest?” Sherlock nodded again, eyes not leaving John’s expert work on his arm. John carefully tied off the last stitch and traded off the surgical thread for some bandages.

“I’ve never seen anything like you before.” John admitted as he bandaged up Sherlock’s arm. “I had no idea such creatures existed.”

“Fawns stay far away from humans. Live in far forest, in fawn territory.” Sherlock explained. “Never go where people can see.” John finished tying the bandage and admired his work. Then he put his supplies back in the medical kit and set it aside, sitting next to Sherlock on the couch.

“What is?” Sherlock asked, pointing at the bandage. 

“It’s a bandage.” John explained. “It wraps up your arm and seals off the wound so it can heal without dirt and bacteria getting into it. It makes it less likely to get infected.” Sherlock looked quite pleased with the new knowledge, saying the word ‘bandage’ a few times happily.

John was extremely curious about the strange furred creature in his sitting room. “Do umm… do all the fawns speak like humans do?” he asked.

Sherlock shook his head. “Only Sherlock.”

“How did you learn?” John inquired. “To speak English, I mean.” Sherlock appeared annoyed at John’s clarification, having understood John’s question originally. 

“Sherlock spy for listen to people speak. Taught self from what hear.” John was immediately impressed. He would never have imagined such an animal-like creature to be so intelligent. 

“That’s brilliant.” he exclaimed. Sherlock turned to John, eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“What mean bri-lli-ant?” Sherlock asked, ears twitching with interest. 

“It means exceptionally smart.” John explained. Sherlock looked extremely surprised to have something so complimentary said about him. “Brilliant.” he said to himself in awe. 

John smiled at the fawn. “Yes. You are extremely brilliant to have taught yourself a language, and an inter-species language at that.” Sherlock smiled for the first time since John had met him. John found he rather liked the fawn’s smile. Something made him think that smiles like these were a rare occurrence for Sherlock. John felt a bit of pride knowing that he had caused it.

Suddenly a thought came to John. “If fawns live far away from where humans are, then what are you doing here?” Sherlock’s demeanor changed entirely, from happy to troubled. He sat for a moment before replying, and John briefly thought he wouldn’t reply at all. 

“Sherlock was sent away from fawn territory. Not allowed with other fawns anymore.” 

Despite having only known Sherlock for a few odd minutes, John was immediately concerned. “You… they sent you away? Why did they do that?” Sherlock’s eyes shone with a flash of anger. “Other fawns hate Sherlock.” he spat out. “Sherlock is freak of forest.”

“Hey. Don’t say something that awful about yourself.” John placed a calming hand on Sherlock’s shoulder, trying to reassure the fawn. “You’re not a freak.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and pushed John’s hand off his shoulder. “No! Sherlock name! Sherlock is mean ‘freak of the forest’.” It took a moment for John to understand, but when he did his features immediately softened. 

“That’s horrible. That isn’t right at all.” John’s hand returned to Sherlock’s shoulder and this time the fawn didn’t push it away. “No one deserves to be treated like that, especially not someone as brilliant as you.” 

Sherlock looked at John very intently, and John wondered what he was thinking. John stared back at Sherlock, trying to read the emotion in his magnificent eyes. After a moment Sherlock looked away, and John could have sworn he had seen a bit of a blush on the fawn’s cheeks.

“Where do you stay now that the other fawn’s banished you?” 

“Nowhere.” Sherlock replied, staring at his hands.

“You can stay here… if you like.” The words fell out of John’s mouth before he could think about what they meant. Once he had said them, however, John couldn’t seem to object with them despite the logical qualms that popped in the doctor’s mind. 

Sherlock turned to John and stared at him again, the same intensity in his piercing eyes. “John is allow Sherlock stay with him in house?” the fawn asked.

“Yeah… well, I mean… yes.” John sputtered in reply.

“Why?”

John considered the question. Why was John inviting a strange creature he had just met to live in the cabin with him? Was it because the fawn interested him? Was it because he was bored and wanted something interesting around? Was it because he felt badly for Sherlock? These ideas came to John’s mind, but none of them seemed right.

“Because I’m alone in the cabin… and you’re alone in the forest.” John answered finally. “So it only seems right.” Sherlock had never known anything like the generosity of the man sitting before him. He felt he didn’t deserve this act of kindness, but this arrangement would solve many of his problems while also allowing him ample opportunity to study the short, sandy-haired human, who was greatly peaking his interest. 

“Sherlock is happy to stay.” the fawn replied. “Where will sleep?” 

“You can sleep out here on the sofa.” John replied. “I have some extra blankets in the closet that you can use.”

“What is blanket?” Sherlock asked quickly, his ears perking up at the idea of a new discovery.  
“A blanket is like a large, comfy towel that keeps you warm.” John explained.

“What is towel?” Sherlock’s tail was waggling with excitement as he leaned forward with interest.

“You dry yourself off with it when you are wet. Here, I have one in the kitchen. I’ll show you.” Little did John know he was about to explain half of his belongings and their uses to the curious fawn, whose interest never seemed to fade. 

John showed Sherlock most everything in the kitchen, and quite a few things in the sitting room before both fawn and human grew tired from the night’s adventures and decided to go to sleep- John on his bed and Sherlock on the couch with a blanket from the closet. As they fell asleep, both seemed to notice that the cabin and the forest suddenly felt much less lonely.


	7. Off On An Adventure

In the days that passed after their first meeting, John and Sherlock both found themselves extremely pleased with the other’s company. Despite the obvious differences between the two, they seemed to fit in comfortably with one another, like pieces of a puzzle.

Every morning began with John awakening long before Sherlock. John would make breakfast as the fawn slept soundly on the couch, gangly limbs spread about wildly. Sherlock had taken to making a sort of nest with the blanket and couch pillows, upon which he deposited himself like a discarded ragdoll, flopped about almost comically.

John always knew when Sherlock was beginning to wake up. The fawn’s ears would lift up first while the rest of him still appeared to be sleeping. And they would twitch towards any sound made around him while the rest of his body woke up. Soon the fawn would hastily roll out of his couch-nest, flopping down on the floor.

“Bored,” Sherlock said on this particular morning, as soon as his eyes had opened, sprawled out on his back next to the coffee table.

John shook his head and laughed, “How can you already be bored? You just woke up.”

Sherlock slowly maneuvered himself into a seated position, rubbing his eyes like a child. 

“Sherlock is almost always bored,” The fawn said with a yawn. 

“You are not always bored,” John insisted as he placed two plates of eggs and toast on the kitchen table, “You’ve seemed quite entertained since you arrived.”

Sherlock thought about this as he stood up and made his way to the table. He had actually been very engaged most of the time since meeting John. The short, sandy-haired man just fascinated him. It wasn’t only because John was a human who was allowing Sherlock to enter his home, it was because John was… well, John. 

One thing about John that amazed Sherlock was how kindhearted he was. No one had ever treated Sherlock the way John treated him. Everyone Sherlock had ever known had seen him as a freak and a failure. John saw Sherlock as exceptional, and Sherlock’s new favorite word, brilliant.

John also was willing to assist Sherlock in any way possible. So far, John had shown Sherlock how almost everything in the house functioned. John explained electricity, and showed Sherlock how to turn on and off the lights. John happily answered all of Sherlock’s questions, no matter how complicated they were. John had even shown Sherlock the bathroom, and had helped Sherlock out of the toilet when he had fallen in after trying to use it. 

John also had tended to Sherlock’s wound every day until it was completely healed. John’s fingers were skilled as they changed the bandage each morning, carefully brushing over Sherlock’s skin. The fawn was a bit sad when it finally healed completely because it meant John would no longer touch him in such a way. 

“Your food’s going to get cold,” John said as he munched his eggs from across the table. 

Sherlock realized he had quietly been thinking for some time. He looked down at the plate of eggs with interest.

“Cheerios?” Sherlock asked, a bit of disappointment in his voice. 

John had introduced the fawn to Cheerios and they now were his preferred breakfast food. Sherlock had been dismayed when John explained that eating Cheerios for every meal was not appropriate. 

“No, no Cheerios this morning. I thought today we’d try something new… don’t look like that. We can’t have cold cereal every morning, silly fawn.” 

Sherlock continued to pout, “Am not silly fawn.”

“Yes you are,” John countered with a smile, “You’re a brilliant, but a very silly fawn.” 

Sherlock perked up a bit at being called his favorite word. John had quickly learned that calling him “brilliant” was the best way to lift the fawn’s spirits when he got pouty. 

“What is?” Sherlock asked as he lightly poked the eggs with his fork.

John smiled. Hearing Sherlock’s quizzical tone of voice when he asked a question was quite adorable, and it had quickly become one of his favorite sounds. Luckily for him, he got to hear it quite often.

“Those are eggs and toast. You eat the eggs with a fork and the toast with your hands. Go ahead, try it,” John took a large bite of the eggs, as if to demonstrate that it was edible. Sherlock carefully put some eggs on his fork, (his table manners had greatly improved in the past few days). Sherlock tried the bite, contemplating the taste as he slowly chewed. Once he had swallowed, the fawn jumped out of him chair, darting out side. A moment later he returned with some grass and a few leaves, which he sprinkled on top of the eggs.

“Is perfect now,” he proclaimed, happily munching a large bite of foliage-covered eggs. John smiled and shook his head, continuing to eat his breakfast. The fawn never ceased to amaze him. 

Once breakfast was done, and Sherlock had begrudgingly helped clean off the dishes, Sherlock and John engaged in the morning ritual of watering the plants. John enjoyed caring for his small garden. He had carrots, tomatoes, pumpkins, and a few assorted herbs. Sherlock had quietly watched John garden each morning, never asking questions. It was the only time the fawn was ever quiet.

John and Sherlock went outside, John wearing his gardening hat which Sherlock said made him look “like a foolish loon.” The idea of needing a specific hat for gardening confused Sherlock. “Does wear hat help plants grow?” he had asked John the first day.

“No. It doesn’t effect the plants at all.” John had replied as he pulled weeds. 

“Then why wear hat for when garden? Is no point. Garden hat is stupid,” Sherlock had been sitting in a patch of grass, arms crossed grumpily.

“The reason I wear my stupid gardening hat is because I like it,” John had explained, a bit annoyed at having his fashion choices criticized, “There doesn’t have to be a point to everything you know.”

Sherlock had given up his argument, but always referred to the hat as the stupid garden hat. Despite Sherlock’s taunting, John couldn’t help but notice how fondly Sherlock stared at him every time he wore it. 

Today when John went out to the garden, wearing the stupid garden hat, he was dismayed to find that some animal had trampled his plants in the night. “They’re ruined! They’re bloody ruined!” he lamented, examining the desolation of his garden.

Sherlock immediately saw the disappointment in John’s features. John loved his garden so. 

The fawn crawled up to the plants and observed the area, “Was badgers,” Sherlock explained. “One came for eat tomatoes. Another came and started fight. They fight in garden, hurt John plants.”

John was extremely frustrated. He had worked so hard on his garden, just to have a few badgers destroy it. 

“There’s nothing I can do to fix it now. All the plants are ruined,” John said with dismay. He took off his hat and trudged into the house.

Sherlock looked at the ruined plants, his heart filled with sadness. John cared so much about those plants, even if it was a silly thing to care about. Sherlock had never really bothered with caring about things other people cared about. Somehow, John was different. Sherlock couldn’t bear to see him so disappointed.

If only Sherlock had the right materials he could use his magic to fix them… but he would have to wander far off into the forest to gather what he needed. He didn’t want to leave John alone when he was upset.

An idea popped into Sherlock’s head. His ears perked up with excitement, and he quickly made his way back into the house. John was sitting in his armchair reading the morning paper, his face set in a frown.

“John! John!” Sherlock yelled, standing in front of the chair, “Sherlock has something to show you!”

John looked up from his paper, a bit annoyed at how loud Sherlock was being, “Something to show me? What is it?” he asked as he set his paper down.

“Is surprise for cheer up John!” The fawn said enthusiastically. 

John was immediately touched that Sherlock would think of him, as well as interested to see what sort of surprise the fawn had in store.

“John and Sherlock need to go to forest to see. Will John come?” 

John wasn’t quite sure if he wanted to trek all the way into the forest. He had walked a few of the hiker’s paths and was unimpressed with the large collection of nearly identical trees. But when he looked in the fawn’s eyes and saw how excited he was, John couldn’t bring himself to say no. 

“Well, I suppose that is okay,” He said as he stood up, “Especially since you were so thoughtful as to come up with a surprise to cheer me up.”

“John wear good shoes for walk,” Sherlock instructed, extremely pleased that John was coming with him. 

John nodded and put on his sneakers, “Just how far are we going, Sherlock?” John asked warily as he tied up his laces.

“John will see. Trust Sherlock, know the way,” Sherlock gave john a reassuring pat, “Sherlock will not take John where is danger.”

John nodded and stood up, “Show me the way, then.”

Instead of taking John on the path, Sherlock immediately led them into the sea of trees. John realized that he really should have expected this. Sherlock did live in the forest after all. Sherlock seemed to be using all his senses to keep track of where he was. The fawn’s eyes were darting around expertly while his ears followed the sounds around them.

John did his best to follow Sherlock, although the quick and nimble fawn had to stop occasionally to wait for the army doctor to catch up. After about a half-hour, John began to worry. Did Sherlock really know where they were going? Everything looked exactly the same to John. Just tree, after tree, after tree. They were far from the cabin and would be in a great bit of trouble if they got lost.

“Stop worry,” Sherlock chirped, “Are almost there.” 

John never ceased to be amazed at how the fawn always seemed to sense exactly what he was thinking.

A few minutes later Sherlock parted some bushes, “Crawl through bush. Then are there.” 

John nodded and got on his knees, following after the fawn. They crawled through the leafy green tunnel for much longer than John would have guessed. 

Just when John thought he couldn’t crawl any farther the bushes ended, and he emerged into the most gorgeous clearing he had ever seen. 

On one end of the glade was a hillside covered with various fruit and berry-bearing plants. And nestled at its base was a cool shaded area covered in soft looking grass. Then right in the center was a gorgeous, glistening lake filled with pristine water.

“Sherlock… what is this place?” John asked in amazement as he stood up and gawped at their surroundings.

“Is hidden lake, only Sherlock is know how find,” Sherlock said proudly as he took John’s hand in his own. The fawn lead John towards the water which perfectly reflected the clouds above it, looking more like a mirror than water, “John and Sherlock can swim and eat fruit.”

John had to admit that the water looked extremely enticing, “But I didn’t bring anything to swim in, or any towels,” John said as he marveled at the feel of the fawn’s furred hand clasping his. 

“Not need, silly John,” Sherlock said, “No one else know how find. Can swim not with clothes.” Sherlock gave John’s fur-free hand a soft, reassuring squeeze. 

John immediately tensed up at the idea of swimming here without his clothes. The grotesque image of his scar flashed in his mind. 

“I… ummm. Maybe I’ll just stick my feet in. The… the water might be too cold for humans.” He said, letting go of Sherlock’s hand. 

The fawn looked at him concerned, “John is alright?” he asked.

John toed off his socks and shoes and stuck his feet in, secretly hoping the water was freezing. Much to his internal dismay, the water was absolutely perfect in temperature, and John couldn’t help but want to get in to the beautiful lake.

Sherlock could see that something was bothering John, “What is wrong? Is Sherlock do mistake?” the fawn asked.

“No, Sherlock. You did nothing wrong,” John said, sitting down on the edge of the lake, his feet still dipped in the clear water.

“Why is John upset?” The fawn asked, sitting next to John on the shoreline.

John didn’t say anything and looked at the lake longingly. 

“John. Tell Sherlock. Please.” Sherlock’s voice was filled with concern, “Sherlock is not wanting John unhappy. John is Sherlock only friend.”

John turned and looked at the fawn sitting next to him. Sherlock’s beautiful eyes were staring up at him, filled with an emotion he hadn’t seen in them before. John stared back into the galaxy of dots spread out across the fawn’s blue irises, and felt a clench deep in his heart. He couldn’t quite name the emotion he was feeling. It was strange and surprising, but not unwelcome.

“Oh, Sherlock,” John said with a sigh, ruffling the fawn’s wild black curls, “I… the thing is. I was hurt… in the war.”

Sherlock’s eyes immediately lit up with concern and anger, “John was hurt? Who hurt? When?” The fawn demanded heatedly.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry yourself. It was a long time ago. I was shot in Afghanistan.” 

Sherlock looked confused, “Where is Af-ghan-i-stan?” He asked.

“It is very, very far away from here,” John mused, looking up at the perfect white clouds above, so unlike the skies he had seen during his time abroad. 

“The thing is, where I got hurt, it left a mark. A scar.”

“Does scar mean John is not able swim?” Sherlock asked, his ears drooping with sadness.  
“Well…” John replied, “I can swim. It’s just…” Embarrassment and self-hate filled John’s eyes, “My scar… is horrible. It is ugly and grotesque. If you saw it, you’d be scared away.”

Sherlock shook his head violently, placing his hand on John’s back in reassurance, as if he was afraid John was going to disappear, “John could never scare Sherlock away. Never.” 

The fawn looked directly into John’s eyes. “John is a good man. John help Sherlock when hurt, give Sherlock a home.” 

Sherlock’s eyes were filled with emotion again, although John still couldn’t quite place what it was. 

“John is answer all Sherlock questions, is keep Sherlock not bored,” Sherlock placed his hands in John’s, holding them tightly, “John is Sherlock friend. Sherlock could never be scared.” 

John could see the fawn meant what he said, right down to the bone. In all the time he’d known Sherlock he’d never seen him this emotional about anything. John looked at his friend, who had brought him to this secret place in the forest just to cheer him up. Although his insecurities screamed for him to stop, John slowly pulled his t-shirt over his head.

“Now you see,” John said, once he had set the shirt aside, his scar completely bared to the fawn. John closed his eyes so he didn’t have to see his friend’s reaction.

To John’s surprise, he felt the light touch of furred fingers dancing over his ruined skin. He opened his eyes to see Sherlock examining his scar closely. There was no fear or disgust in his eyes. Only interest and concern.

“Does it hurt?” Sherlock asked, his fingers tracing where the bullet had pierced John’s skin. 

“Only sometimes,” John answered, “But it hurts me, in my heart. When I see it,” He explained. 

Sherlock nodded, understanding, “It is not the things you say. It is not scary,” Sherlock said as he petted the scar lightly, “John scar is brilliant.”

“My scar… is exceptionally smart?” John asked in confusion.

“Is not all that brilliant mean,” Sherlock said, pulling up the definition from his mind forest, “John scar is outstanding and impressive.” 

He couldn’t help but smile as Sherlock recited word for word, part of the definition John had read to him from his phone dictionary, “That is what you really think then, of my scar. You think it is brilliant?” John mumbled.

“Yes. And is not good reason for not swim in lake,” Sherlock tackled John into the water, both of them landing in with a big splash that sent ripples skittering across the glassy surface. 

John chuckled as the perfect water swallowed them in, both completely wet from head to toe. 

“No fair!” He said with a smile, “You can’t just push me in the lake unannounced!”

“John taking too long for get in, Sherlock was assist,” The fawn said as he kicked about on his back. 

John splashed Sherlock as hard as he could and laughed when the fawn smiled and splashed back in return. All thoughts of the scar on his shoulder were replaced with blissful happiness as John allowed himself to have fun in the lake with his friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed Chapter 7! I am hoping to get up Chapters 8 and 9 in the next few weeks! If you would like to keep posted about updates follow my tumblr. I am johnlockhedgehog149 there as well :) Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think.


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